


after a while, I thought I'd never find you

by findyourstars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8374105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findyourstars/pseuds/findyourstars
Summary: prompt: soulmate AU where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soulmate's skin as well.
 
The markings usually appear around a person’s thirteenth birthday. Lexa’s don’t appear until she is sixteen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to tackle a bunch of smaller prompts to get my brain back into writing mode. Many thanks to Heather (galaxygalpals on tumblr) for shooting me a good dozen and being a fantastic source of inspiration.
> 
> I'm still clarkesmech on Tumblr but don't check it anymore, so feel free to drop me prompts here and I'll try 'em out!

_after a while, I thought I'd never find you  
I convinced myself that I would never find you  
when suddenly I saw you_  
"Venus," Sleeping at Last

 

The markings usually appear around a person’s thirteenth birthday. No one knows why that seems to be the magic number - maybe because the girls at least are hitting puberty? But there seems to truly be no science behind Soul-Mating, as far as experts can figure, so like every other part of this odd and mystical part of life, it is simply accepted.

Lexa’s don’t appear until she is sixteen, and when they’re late, she spends three torturous years convincing herself that she’s one of the unlucky few who doesn’t have a Soul-Mate in this life and that she is destined to be alone.

So while her classmates in high school are giggling over the drawings appearing on their arms and sending snapchats of the particularly romantic or lewd ones, Lexa wears long sleeves.

She’s so used to Oxfords and sweatshirts that it’s not until a few days after she turns sixteen that she’s undressing to shower and notices the tiny heart inked into the bend of her left wrist.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’s drawn on herself and forgotten about it, so the flutter of surprise and anticipation is much fainter than it used to be. The drawing will wash off in the shower, like it always does.

It doesn’t.

And the next day, when she wakes, there is a small peace sign in blue ink beside it.

For a brief, exhilarating moment, Lexa forgets how to breathe.

—

In some bizarre, cosmic kink of the Soul-Mating process, most letters inked onto one person’s skin never show up on the skin of their Bonded. There have been extensive studies performed to test the range and limitations of it, but no matter what is tried, there are some basic “rules” that never change.

It’s kind of nice sometimes, nineteen-year-old Lexa thinks as she jots down an abbreviated to-do list on the back of her hand. Her Soul-Mate doesn’t necessarily need to know that Lexa needs to do laundry later.

She has to squeeze the words around doodles from the Soul-Mate in question, who must be in a boring class, because she’s given her artistic side full rein. Lexa’s entire left arm is covered in spiraling vines and delicate flowers opening to an imaginary sun, leaves shaded with careful cross-hatching until they could almost be images from a photograph. The other girl is on a lily kick this week, but there are a handful of other purple-blue flowers scattered throughout that Lexa can’t identify. She swears she’s learned more about botany from the designs arcing across her skin than any textbook could ever teach her.

The other girl is drawing another small cluster of mystery flowers, lines spidering into existence as Lexa watches, and she stops in her walk to class to pull a pen from her hair and circle one of them, then draw a question mark beside it.

The flowers pause, and two carefully-spaced Cs appear directly beneath Lexa’s question mark.

There are only ever two letters that appear on Lexa’s arms: _G_ and _C_. The other girl’s initials. Lexa knows that the other girl’s skin can only show an _L_ or a _W_ for “Lexa Woods,” but as far as her Soul-Mate knew, Lexa’s name could be Wendy Lewis. 

It’s infuriatingly cryptic, but in the last three years of communication with her partner, Lexa has grown used to it.

So the name of the flower includes two Cs and no Gs. Lexa would have to do some Googling after class.

She draws a smiley-face beside the letters and rolls her sleeves back down so she can focus on her philosophy lecture.

Later that night, she discovers that they’re chicory flowers.

—

When Lexa is twenty-one and in her third year of college, her Soul-Mate goes silent.

It’s not unusual for them to go a day or so without any sort of communication — Lexa isn’t much of an artist, and her partner seems to have certain days of the week that are busier, and she can’t spend as much time doodling.

But after the third week and several question marks, a pit of dread begins to form in Lexa’s stomach.

Anya notices that she’s moping more than usual and forces her to meet her for coffee after classes. Lexa tries to avoid caffeine as a rule — she’s already tense enough as it is — so she’s never been to this particular coffee shop before. In fact, she doesn’t even know what to order.

When she makes it up to the counter, she’s biting her lip and likely looking quite confused, and the barista smiles sympathetically at her.

“First time?” She says. Lexa doesn’t usually go for blondes, but there’s something about the sparkle in this girl’s smile that takes her mind, just for a moment, off of the fact that her Soul-Mate has likely died and Lexa’s going to spend the rest of her life alone.

For a moment, that is, until she realizes that the barista’s eyes are blue like chicory flowers, which her absent Soul-Mate couldn’t used to go a week without doodling.

“Yeah,” she just mumbles, and the girl’s eyes soften. 

“I like the peach passion tea,” she suggests, and Lexa shrugs.

“That’s fine.” Her mood is sinking like a stone again, and she doesn’t process the fact that the girl’s right arm is in a sling until she struggles to ring her up.

“Sorry,” the barista apologizes, a pretty blush starting on her cheekbones. “I’ve been in this darn thing for a couple of weeks, and I’m still not used to it.”

Lexa feels the corners of her own lips turning just so slightly upwards before she’s consciously aware of it, and then she’s smiling - if only a little bit - for the first time since “GC” fell off the face of the earth.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says sincerely, and drops a dollar into the tip jar after she’s paid for her tea. “I hope your arm feels better.”

She sneaks a glance at the barista’s name tag before she grabs her cardboard cup, just in case she finds “Clarke” working another shift anytime soon. It might be nice to have a friend that’s a little softer around the edges than Anya, who’s sitting in the corner of the coffee shop staring flatly at Lexa.

So at least Anya’s in a good mood today.

—

It’s been six and a half weeks since her Soul-Mate fell silent, and while Lexa still has nightmares about ending up an old cat lady with no one to love her, the sting has begun to dull. She spent three years convinced she didn’t even have a Soul-Mate; at least she has had a good five years with GC. 

(Part of Lexa seems to be sincerely convinced that she is always going to end up alone.)

Anya has Soul-Mate drama of her own and stops inviting Lexa out for coffee, but Lexa finds that Coffee Grounders is a much more pleasant place to study than the library. For the last two or so weeks she’s been here every afternoon after her classes end. She drinks green tea as she flips through her textbooks and replies to emails, and when Clarke is working, the other girl will sneak her free pastries.

Lexa still doesn’t like coffee, but she likes Clarke-the-barista, and the blonde’s light-hearted grin and carefree laugh has brightened more than one of Lexa’s darker days. 

It’s one of those on the Monday she slogs through a cold and rainy day to Coffee Grounders, hands shoved deep into her pocket and a scowl tucked into the corner of her mouth. She’d gotten a B+ on a social anthropology paper that _clearly_ deserved an A, and when she’d gone to contest the grade, her TA had just growled at her and refused to discuss anything.

_Ontari really has it out for me_ , Lexa texts Anya as she slouches into the coffee shop and drops her bag at her usual booth in the corner. Clarke calls out a cheery hello from behind the counter, but Lexa is too deep in her own frustration.

But when she shrugs off her jacket, her eyes snag on a smeared blue flower inked across the veins of her left wrist, and her world slows to a stop.

_Chicory_ , something in her mind whispers, and she feels a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying fall from her shoulders.

She snaps into action and paws through her bag, searching for the pen that she’s long since stopped sticking into her ponytail for carrying. Next to the flower, she draws several excited exclamation points, her hands shaking, and then scrawls a sloppy heart for emphasis.

“Someone’s in a good mood!” It’s Clarke, coming by Lexa’s table with her green tea and a plate of what looks like blueberry scones. Lexa beams.

“Yeah,” she says breathlessly, not sure how to harness the joy she’s feeling and stuff it into the shape of words. But then she notices: “You got your cast off!”

“Yeah, earlier today!” Clarke grins. Lexa’s good mood must be infectious, because even the effervescent Clarke seems to have a special glow about her today. She’s wearing short sleeves despite the chilly weather: a grey shirt that shows off her lean arms and reveals a series of designs spiraling around her wrists. 

Something in Lexa’s brain sends up a flag, and she stops mid-word to take Clarke’s forearm in her hands. 

“What are you —?” Clarke laughs, but it dies when she sees the flower on Lexa’s wrist, then looks back at its twin on her own skin.

Lexa looks up, breathless, and their eyes lock. Clarke’s eyes are so, so blue, and suddenly it’s all Lexa can do to keep from kissing her in the middle of this crowded coffee shop, even though she’s never kissed anyone before - has never even _wanted_ to.

“You’re — ” Clarke’s words are a whisper, and Lexa nods.

“I thought you were dead,” she blurts out.

Clarke winces. “The cast,” she says. “I couldn’t — ”

“I know, but I — ”

“I would _never_ — ”

“I was _alone_ — ”

“ _Lexa_ ,” Clarke says suddenly, fiercely, and clasps her own hand around Lexa’s forearm. “You're _never_ alone.”

Lexa’s breath leaves her lungs in a long whoosh, and she releases Clarke’s forearm to take her face in her hands and kiss her soundly.

It feels like coming home.


End file.
